by Regina Darcy
A little embarrassed, Jemima hurried out after the girl, thinking to herself that if Lord Denhaven was not at the stables, then she would simply return to the house to wait for him there. She hoped she was not mistaken about where Lord Denhaven had said he would meet her and worried that he had been waiting for her for some time.
Miss Lilian said nothing as they walked towards the stables, the cold air biting at Jemima’s nose and fingertips. Pulling on her gloves, she tried to find something to say to Miss Lilian but came up with nothing.
“Here,” Miss Lilian murmured as they approached. “Won’t you go on ahead?” She smiled as a small sigh left her mouth. “I would like to take in the scene for a moment, unmarred by people or animals.”
Thinking silently to herself that Miss Lilian was something of a strange creature, Jemima excused herself and continued on into the stables, hearing no-one within.
Her breath caught as she stepped inside, one hand pressed against her mouth as she stumbled back.
Lord Denhaven was holding Lady Smythe’s hand tightly, his body pressed close to hers, with Lady Smyth’s back pressed against the wall of the stables. Lord Denhaven jerked upon hearing her gasp of shock, turning his head, only for Lady Smythe to reach up and kiss him full on the mouth, her hands on either side of his face.
“What are you doing?” Lord Denhaven roared, tugging himself away from Lady Smythe, but it was much too late. Jemima, unable to believe what she had seen, staggered out of the stables and began to run. She did not know where she was going, but such was her desperation to get away from Lord Denhaven and Lady Smythe that she ran heedlessly, her vision blurring with tears.
She heard Lord Denhaven shouting, calling her name, but she did not stop. Her breathing grew ragged, but still she ran through the snow and towards the small, forested area to the left of the estate. Not wanting to be anywhere near Lord Denhaven, and knowing that if she went back to the estate, he would follow her there, Jemima ran for all she was worth, finally making it into the trees.
Their branches, like long bony fingers, seemed to reach down and grab at her, but she welcomed their embrace. Her legs were heavy as she staggered on, her breath like clouds of air that fogged out in front of her.
Her heart was in agony, her cheeks wet with tears. She had been foolish to believe him, foolish to trust that the picture he presented to her was his true self. All the time, right behind her back, he had been planning on pursuing Lady Smythe, whose attentions had been much too obvious.
All she had ever known about herself came crashing back down over her head and she stumbled, falling to her knees in the snow. She was plain, she was entirely unbecoming. The beauty that Lord Denhaven had spoken of had been nothing more than a ruse to have her think better of him, to let her heart begin to quicken with affection for him. And she had, of course, fallen for his scheme without even a moment of hesitation. He had been the first gentleman to ever show her even a hint of affection, to kiss her with what she had believed to be true tenderness.
The snow soaked through her dress, but she did not move. Her tears were falling steadily now, dripping down onto her chin and then into the snow. Her whole frame was racked with sobs, the cold air blowing her hair from her bonnet. Her fingers burned with cold, her gloves soaked through as despair coursed through every part of her. This had all been nothing more than a cruel lie.
“Jemima!”
She sucked in a breath, somehow finding the strength to push herself to her feet. Lord Denhaven had not given up, it seemed. Not even the sound of her Christian name flowing from his full lips could change her course of action. Her hands found tree trunks to help her up. Her skirts were weighed down as they continued to soak up the moisture from the snow. Nothing seemed magical now, for the snow was a burden, pulling her back, dragging her down, stopping her from making her escape.”
“Jemima, please! You don’t understand!”
His voice only spurred her on, her breath coming in ragged sobs as she flung herself through the snow, not knowing where she was going but wanting to get as far away from Lord Denhaven as possible.
“Stop, Jemima! Please!”
He was getting closer now. Her hands grasped at branches, pushing them out of her way as she struggled onwards, her vision still blurred with tears.
“Wait, Jemima!”
Her feet slipped suddenly, sending her lying forward onto her stomach. Her chin hit something hard, sending pain ricocheting up into her head. Something cracked ominously underneath her. Her heart seemed to stop all at once, as she went cold all over, her skin prickling with fear.
“Jemima, stay still.”
Lord Denhaven was close now, but she did not even turn her head to look at him.
“The pond is frozen over, but I do not think the ice is very thick,” he said, his voice betraying his fright. “You need to stay where you are. Don’t move. I’ll come out to get you.”
Closing her eyes tightly, Jemima let out a ragged breath. “No,” she said, not wanting even to look at him, not wanting his help, even though the danger was growing with every moment. “Just leave me, Denhaven.”
“I cannot,” he replied firmly. “What you saw, Jemima, that was not as it seemed. Please, let me take you back to the house. I can explain there, if you’ll just give me the opportunity to do so.”
Her stomach roiled, her eyes squeezing all the tighter shut. “No,” she whispered, refusing to believe a single word he said. “I have seen quite enough, Lord Denhaven.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Jemima,” she heard him say – only for the sound of cracking ice to drown out the rest, just as the first swirls of cold water made their way through her clothing and, slowly, began to drag her under.
NINE
“Jemima!”
Alexander was frantic as he saw Lady Jemima slowly begin to sink under the water. The ice was cracking into pieces, pulling her into the ice-cold water. “Jemima!” he shouted again, hanging onto a nearby tree branch with one hand whilst stretching out the other towards her water-soaked gown. “Reach for me!”
She could not, given that she was facing away from him and was now attempting to cling onto the ice for dear life. A quiet scream escaped her, as yet more ice cracked, leaving him terrified for her safety.
Water sloshed into his boots as he took a step onto the edge of the pond, almost losing his balance. Steadying himself, he reached out again, as far as he could, his hand grasping nothing but water. Letting out an exclamation of frustration, he tried again and, finally, grasped a handful of her gown.
“Let go, Jemima!” he shouted, knowing that it was the last thing she wanted to do. “I have you. I’ll pull you in.”
She could say nothing, her head slowly turning towards him over her shoulder. Her eyes were huge with fright, her skin pale, and lips turning blue. He had to get her back to the house.
“Please, Jemima,” he begged, his heart beating so quickly that he could barely catch his breath. “You must.”
Slowly, she let go of the ice and reached one hand towards him.
Using every bit of his strength, Alexander caught her hand and slowly began to pull her towards him, his other hand tight around the thick tree branch that he held. His foot slipped, leaving him panicked for a moment, seeing Lady Jemima’s wide eyes fixed on his. “I have you,” he whispered through gritted teeth as he forced his feet back towards solid ground. “I have you, Jemima. Come on now, just a little more.”
Somehow, he managed to haul her out of the water and onto the bank. She immediately began to shake with the cold, her teeth chattering. He was almost as wet as she was, her clothes soaking through into his as he held her tightly.
“I must get you back to the house,” he said, praying that she would not collapse on the way. “If you can walk, Jemima, I will support you. Come.” Wrapping one arm around her waist, he tried to encourage her to walk but found that she was so tired, so weak and cold, that she could barely stand, never mind do anything
else. Unwilling to give up, Alexander did not ask her permission but pulled her up into his arms, bearing her weight as he began to make his way through the forest.
Jemima did not so much as murmur a protest, something that immediately concerned him. She was growing colder with every moment that passed. He had to get her back to the house just as soon as he could.
Ignoring his own freezing limbs, Alexander forced one foot in front of the other, his jaw working hard as he gritted his teeth, determination growing steadily within him
“It is not what you think, Jemima,” he stated firmly, not at all certain that she was even conscious and able to hear him, given the way that her eyes were now tightly closed, her head resting heavily against his shoulder. “It is not what you think, truly. Lady Smythe has been pursuing me since the day she arrived, although it was foolishness itself to have invited her.” Regret bit at him, making his lip curl. “I invited her when I ought not to have, Jemima. I am sorry for that. I had hoped she might pursue me in that way, I suppose, and told myself that I would enjoy such a distraction at such a difficult time. I never once thought…” He trailed off, his voice breaking from the depth of emotion he felt. “I never once thought that I would come to care for you, as I have done,” he finished hoarsely. “Do you hear me, Jemima? I care for you. Deeply. Truly. With every part of my being, I want to be by your side and give you everything that I am and everything that I have.”
His feet crunched through the snow-laden, icy grass and broken twigs that littered the ground. His breath was coming hard and fast, his limbs no longer cold but burning like fire as the air about him grew heavy with moisture. Finally, he stepped out of the forest and back into the open grounds, pausing only for a moment before forcing his feet in the direction of the house.
“It was Lady Smythe’s doing,” he said again, praying that Jemima could hear him. “She came to the stables with the intention of… forming a bond between us. I tried to refuse, I tried to reject her, but she was persistent. To see you there, Jemima, to see the shock and the pain in your eyes, broke my heart. I saw her daughter outside the stables when I came in search of you, my love. Was she there too? Had she planned it all with her mother, determined to break the growing bond between us?” Jemima let out a quiet moan and he clutched her tighter, feeling as though his fingers had frozen in place. “If only you would believe me,” he whispered, seeing one of his gardeners spot him and immediately run towards him. “If only you would trust me, Jemima, then we might find a happiness together that neither of us have ever even allowed ourselves to dream of before.”
“My lord!” The gardener’s eyes were wide as he stared at the prone form of Lady Jemima. “My lord,” he said again, waving one hand over another. “What shall we do?”
“Get to the house,” Alexander replied through gritted teeth. “Get the others to prepare her bedchamber. She will need a roaring fire, blankets, and towels. Tell the housekeeper. She will know what to arrange.”
“Can I carry her for you, my lord?” a second man asked as the first ran towards the house. “You look quite done in.”
Alexander shook his head, his expression grim. “No, you may not,” he stated firmly, refusing to relinquish Lady Jemima to anyone. “But go and tell my valet that I require a full change of clothes. These are quite sodden.”
The second man looked as though he was not quite sure about leaving Alexander to walk into the manor house alone. He hesitated for a moment before rushing away inside. Alexander lifted his chin, his legs burning with every step he took, but refusing to allow himself to let Lady Jemima go. He had to be the one to take her inside. He had to be the one who ensured she was, at the very least, back safely. It was his doing, in a way, what had occurred. He ought never to have invited Lady Smythe.
“I am truly sorry, Jemima,” he whispered, seeing the front door open and a young lady come running towards him, her gown flying out behind her. “I am truly sorry for the foolish man I have been. Forgive me, my love, if you can, and I shall spend the rest of my days proving to you that I am not that rogue any longer. I shall prove to you continually that I am a gentleman who can be trusted, who is loyal and true in his affections. Please, dear Jemima, allow me another opportunity to prove myself.”
She did not move nor stir in his arms, not even when her sister reached him, crying out in fright at the deathly pale sheen that covered her sister’s features.
“What happened?” she asked, as Alexander staggered just a little, his body tiring as he climbed the steps to the house. “I do not understand.”
“The ice,” he said hoarsely, as he reached the front door of the house. “She fell through.”
“But why?” Madeline whispered, hardly able to lift her eyes from her sister’s face to look into his. “What was she doing out on the ice?”
Alexander drew in a long breath, the truth stabbing at him painfully. “Running,” he said brokenly. “She was running away, Lady Madeline. Running away from me.”
Lady Madeline said nothing but assisted him as he climbed the staircase towards Lady Jemima’s rooms. His staff were running everywhere. Footmen were by his side in case he should require their assistance. There were buckets of steaming water being brought into her room ahead of him, with one maid carrying so many blankets she could barely see over the top. The door to Lady Jemima’s bedchamber was open, and he staggered inside, seeing the housekeeper already waiting for him.
“Her bed is ready, my lord.” The housekeeper’s watchful eyes took in everything as he walked towards the bed, although he did not miss the concern that emanated from her. As carefully as he could, he made to deposit Lady Jemima onto the towels and blankets already waiting for her, but found that his fingers were so cold, he could barely remove them from her.
“We have her now, my lord,” his housekeeper said gently, as Lady Madeline rushed around to her sister’s other side. “You can let go.”
He closed his eyes and tried to remove his frozen fingers from her, relieved when the housekeeper, realising the problem, pressed a hot cloth to his hands. The instant relief turned to pain as his fingers cried out in agony, although he was slowly able to slide his arm out from underneath Lady Jemima’s knees, finally freeing her from his grasp.
“Here,” the housekeeper murmured, handing him the still-warm cloth before turning her attention immediately back to Jemima. “Your room is still being prepared, my lord, but there is the fire here and the bucket of boiling water.” She threw a quick glance towards both, whilst Lady Madeline chafed one of Lady Jemima’s hands between her own. “However, we must remove her from her wet things just as soon as possible.”
Alexander swallowed hard, barely able to look at the prone figure in the bed. “I will leave her, of course,” he muttered, not wanting to leave Jemima’s side and yet knowing that he had very little choice. “Send any news to me at once.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Alexander did not so much as look at Lady Madeline as he quit the room, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. It had been just as he had said to Lady Madeline. Lady Jemima had been running from him, from what she had seen. This was his doing. He could only pray that she recovered.
“My daughter.”
Alexander looked up to see the Marquess hurrying along the corridor towards him, with the Dowager just a few steps behind.
“She is being cared for, my lord,” he said woodenly, as the Dowager took Alexander’s hand in her own, her eyes shining with concern. “I pray she will recover soon. They are removing her wet things at the moment.”
The Marquess looked as though he was having to fight to remain just outside Lady Jemima’s door, knowing that he could not go in to her and yet be utterly desperate to do so.
“She fell through the ice, the servant said?”
Alexander sighed and raked his hand through his hair.
“She witnessed something she believed to be true when it was not,” he stated truthfully. “I was attempting to r
eject Lady Smythe’s fervent attentions when Lady Jemima stumbled upon us. I cannot expect you to believe this to be the truth, however, given that you know my character. But I will say it anyway.” Slowly, he raised his head and looked steadily back at Lord Parkham, the truth burning on his lips.
“I care for your daughter, Lord Parkham. I attempted to change my character because I felt I must, only to discover that what you said about Lady Jemima was quite true. There is a depth of beauty to her that must be discovered, must be found out, and I was only just beginning to see it. I no longer felt obliged to behave as I ought but have rather found, these last few days, that I wanted to be the gentleman your daughter deserved. Would that I could have another chance to explain myself to her and to tell her the truth of my heart!”
He did not drop his gaze but held the other man’s steadily, his heart pounding wildly.
“You may yet have that chance,” the Marquess said eventually, putting one hand on Alexander’s shoulder.
Alexander let out his breath, having expected Lord Parkham to strike him rather than show him any sense of understanding.
“I will not pretend that it is easy to believe what you say,” the Marquess continued, “but if your grandmother can see a change in your character, can see a true affection growing within you, then I will give you the opportunity to prove it to my daughter, Lord Denhaven.”
Alexander nodded, shoving one hand through his hair. “I just pray she will recover her strength,” he whispered, suddenly becoming aware of just how cold and tired he was. “I long to tell her everything that is in my heart.”
“She is resting comfortably now, my lord.”
Alexander jerked his head around to see the housekeeper addressing both himself and Lord Parkham but chose to remain where he was. Lord Parkham hurried into the room, leaving Alexander and the Dowager standing outside.
“Go,” his grandmother said gently. “She will still be here when you return.”
Taking in a long breath, Alexander nodded and turned away, his heart aching with a fierce and terrible pain.